


Half Poetry

by dreamkist



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, POV First Person, Stream of Consciousness, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 07:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16057937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamkist/pseuds/dreamkist
Summary: We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; 
    How restlessly they speed and gleam and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly! yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost for ever:—Shelley





	Half Poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/gifts).



The totems that hang from the rafters tinkle around my head as I brush by them. My temporary home is not the most welcoming place. The wind blows across this cottage and finds every crack to enter. I suspect the fog and rain of the moor are somehow enhanced by the Cut Wife to make it seem even less appealing to potential visitors.

The cliff behind the cottage is more comforting than one might imagine. It is an escape.

I orient myself with the tree in front of the cottage. Its bent and harsh trunk almost reminds me of the woman who lives here. I wonder if there is life in it still, somewhere deep in its heart.

 

Despite the forbidding air of the place and the woman, people come. A young girl comes for her services one day. I offer to help. Why do I say those words? God forgives all. I do not know the truth of that statement.

There are interesting things here: magical items easily mistaken for clutter, the tarot cards and books. I am learning all that she has to teach me. From the first time she commanded me to _see_ , I have been able to control and direct the power more than ever before. I have much to learn, but I feel hopeful that soon I will be ready to find Mina.

 

She is a crude woman, a damnable crone, but she is not nearly as hard as she would have people believe. I see the kindness in her though it lurks deep.

In the night, with the wind rattling the old cottage and the fire too far away, I find myself wanting to join her in bed for warmth and comfort.

Sometimes I think of her fingers, hard and seeking. Sometimes I want to feel them inside me again, to be laid bare.

 

The nightcomers’ appearance has created a disturbance in the cottage. I feel the unseen work of dark magic. It hangs in the air like the fog.

She looks to be in pain. Of course, she tries to not show it, but I have been with her long enough to tell.

I help her remove the dress and the scarred flesh is shocking though I knew it was there. I imagine the pain she must have felt. I place a cool hand in the center of it and feel a hint of malevolent power.

She does not sleep well. I cover the brand with both my hands and try to ease her pain. I feel a slight, answering burn in my own back. I do not know if I was successful, but she at least was able to rest some of the night.

 

Sometimes I wonder if this pull inside me, this urge toward the dark, will become too strong to fight. I fear one day I will succumb. I remember her words, that I must not feel it so, but what if coming here and learning has only opened the door of temptation further.

She is dying. She says to accept it, she has lived long enough. But I have not had enough time with her. I want her to stay. She wants me to stay. She has given me more than magical knowledge. She has shown me another path, a better path than the one I was afraid to travel. I am not prepared to be without her guidance.

She lets me lay my head on her breast. I hear her heart beating and she rests her hand on my head. I love her.

 

She is gone. My dear Joan.  
We are all monsters indeed.

 

I must return home. Mina still needs me. The cottage is cold and empty now; I do not think I have the heart to fill it with life again. I will say goodbye to this place. To that lone tree, stark and dead, but full enough of grace.

Joan’s wish is already true. I will never pass a happy night.


End file.
